#kharda

And now we will see what Zarakharn was up to. He had flown from Khriza with haste. A little magic had quickened his wingbeats. He had reached Razaga in no time and was now circling a great fat tower. Sartigar’s head was buried deep inside his master’s satchel. He hated flying.

Zarakharn landed on the entrance balcony, which boasted an enormous gate. He rapped his knuckles on the iron bracing as Sartigar stuck out his head and heaved a dry retch.

There was a flapping and a thump. A small window opened in the side of the gate. Recognizing the emperor immediately, the dragon behind the gate shut the window and shouted orders for it to be opened.

Zarakharn strode inside, walking around the curved wall that separated the entrance from the deep central corridor. The column yawned below and above, rows of levels encircling the inside of the tower. Zarakharn leapt off the edge and flew up to the top ring.

As Zarakharn made his way to Kharda’s room to announce his arrival, another dragon approached him. It was Eras, the governor of Razaga. The dragon bowed when he reached the emperor. “Your majesty. I was just about to fly to Khriza to speak with you.”

“About what?” Zarakharn inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Kh. . . Kharda, your majesty. As you know, he. . . er, well, wields a great deal of influence,” said Eras carefully. “As. . . As he has for some time.”

“Get to the point,” Zarakharn snapped. “Every governor for the last hundred years has complained about Kharda and his influence. Is this truly worth my precious and valuable time?”

“He’s going to kill me!” Eras cried, suddenly snapping from his composure. “He wants me to give him Narvash, who has served me faithfully for over a decade as chief of the city guard-- to kill him! And he says if I don’t, he’ll kill me as well! You must protect us! Tell him he must not be allowed to--”

“I have no time for this,” Zarakharn snapped. “I will mention your plight to Kharda. Perhaps he will be understanding.”

“You are the emperor!” Eras exclaimed. “You can command him not to harm me!”

“And alienate the only living family member I remotely like?” Zarakharn raised an eyebrow. “I think not.”

“You have to help me, my lord, please!” Eras entreated.

Zarakharn glanced at two hirelings walking past. He clicked his claws together. “Guards,” he beckoned. “This dragon is wasting my time. Escort him out.”

Kharda’s henchdrakes, being familiar with the emperor issuing casual orders to them, seized the protesting governor and flew him out. Zarakharn gave a quiet snarl of exasperation and continued toward Kharda’s room. Sartigar hissed unflattering mockeries about the governor.

The door to Kharda’s room opened and the dragon himself wobbled out on his stubby legs. Strapped to his back was a deflated balloon with a long tube. This device was for helping him to fly, the same way an old human uses a cane to walk. “Zarakharn!” he exclaimed, taking the tube from his mouth. “Welcome, cousin.”

“Hello, Kharda,” said Zarakharn. “I merely came to inform you of my presence here. My visit will not be long.”

“You are my guest as always,” said Kharda, inclining his head. “If you need anything, Fant will assist you. You know where to find him.”

“Thank you,” said Zarakharn. “I will go up to my room now.”

Kharda nodded. He turned to continue on his way.

“Oh, Kharda?” Zarakharn added. “Eras would prefer that you not kill him.”

“What would you prefer?” asked Kharda.

“I have no preference,” said Zarakharn, walking away.

Kharda blew flame into the tube of his apparatus, inflating the balloon. He jumped from the ledge and descended gracefully.

You should use a balloon, said Sartigar as they headed to their room. It would be easier on my stomach.

“I created a heartstone so I would never have to,” said Zarakharn with an amused smile. “Do not worry, friend. When the Bands are gathered, you can become a dragon, and then you will grow accustomed to flying.”

Zarakharn himself intended to change his form when he had achieved ultimate power. He would turn into a behemoth of a worm, mighty as Gharst the demon, an ancient dragon of such great size that an Idrakagar, the largest dragon in Aladugarim, appeared as small as a rabbit before a bear. For Sartigar’s part, he would be content to take Zarakharn’s place as a Khrizan. Though he despised flying, dragonhood appealed to him greatly. To walk, to breathe fire, and be as tall as a tree! And perhaps, someday, he would be able to soar to great heights without nervousness.

But Zarakharn and Sartigar were a long way off from their goal. First, they had to find the stone, and Zarakharn was now meeting with Fiandarsh to learn what his master had discovered about its current possessor.

Zarakharn unlocked the door to his suite and entered. He bolted the door shut and allowed Sartigar to slither onto the floor. The room was briefly cast into darkness before Zarakharn lit the torch next to the door. Its light was dim, but Zarakharn did not light the other torches. Instead,he deposited his satchel on the bed and faced the bricked-in window.

Fiandarsh materialized in front of it. “I have been waiting for you.”

“What news, my master?” asked Zarakharn, bowing.

“He is Gilzaruk’s son,” said Fiandarsh. “Named for his father.”

“Then he is a threat to us.”

“I do not think so,” said Fiandarsh, slowly pacing the room. “I saw nothing to suggest he knows of magic or the Shuzirons, unless he is hiding it from his friends. He has two companions, a drakeling and a dracaena. In addition to him, his father also sired twin sons before his demise. They are young, and I doubt they know their father’s secret. But I cannot tell how much the mother knows.”

Zarakharn sat on the bed, pondering this information. “If the drakeling is truly ignorant, what does he intend to do with the stone?”

“Why, return it, of course,” said Fiandarsh. “He went to the townsguard today to ascertain its authenticity. Look in your satchel.”

Zarakharn pulled an envelope from his satchel. It was a magic envelope that he always carried with him. Inside this envelope were many papers. He removed them. Written on the papers were messages that were addressed to him but had not yet reached the palace. He thumbed through them until he found one from Raer. In magically facsimiled handwriting was a letter from the chief of the townsguard.

Zarakharn scanned the letter and furrowed his brow. “Interesting.”

“There is something he neglected to tell the chief,” said Fiandarsh, ghostly eyes glittering. “He is flameless.”

Zarakharn raised both eyebrows. “Flameless?” he whispered.

Fiandarsh nodded.

Zarakharn grinned. “How deliciously fitting that a Shuziron’s weakness should manifest physically in his child.”

“I do not believe there is a connection,” said Fiandarsh wryly. “Some dragons do not become their fathers, despite the firmest of upbringing.”

Zarakharn clenched his jaw. If you wanted my father you would have chosen my father, he thought savagely.

“If he is truly ignorant of the stone’s truth, that makes things easier, does it not?” asked Zarakharn.